


Jona Vark

by bogged



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: EWE, Genderswap, Multi, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-14
Updated: 2010-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogged/pseuds/bogged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Hogwarts re-opens and our regular cast of witches and wizards return to school for their final year in some grasp at normalcy. And then Draco turns Harry into a girl. Of course that would happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jona Vark

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the **[Sex is Not the Enemy](http://villainny.livejournal.com/1420948.html)** challenge! My prompt was [this](http://sexisnottheenemy.tumblr.com/post/115514563). The title is from a song by the band Gypsy &amp; the Cat.

_"I am at heart a gentleman."  
—Marlene Dietrich_

Draco Malfoy's head snapped to attention, his eyes wide, his face graying. He dropped the teaspoon he was holding, the silver edge of it barely missing his teacup and hitting instead the dark wood of the Slytherin table with a muffled thump.

Standing in the entrance to the Great Hall was a girl in too big pajamas. They looked as though they had once belonged to her brother—a button up shirt with too big shoulders, sleeves that fell over her hands, and matching blue-striped trousers that caught beneath her feet as she began stomping somewhat comically toward where Malfoy was sitting. As she came closer, Malfoy squinted. He felt he should recognize her, should know who she was and why she was screaming his name with her oddly deep, hoarse-sounding voice, but for the life of him he couldn't place her.

"Draco—" Pansy said, leaning across the table, her voice wavering as she was cut off by the stranger pushing Pansy's head to the side so that she could get in as close to Draco's face as was possible without having to actually touch it.

"You did this to me, Malfoy," she spat. She pointed her finger threateningly at Draco, although the ferociousness of it became a bit mired when her pajama sleeve fell down over her hand.

Draco narrowed his eyes in an effort to hide the somersaults his insides were doing in an odd mixture of confusion and relief. The reason he'd dropped his spoon was because he'd thought, for one horrifying and life-as-he-knew-it ending moment, that it was his undead auntie Bellatrix in the doorway. This girl had the same untameable supernova of black hair exploding from every part of her head and the way she screamed his surname with that total lack of decorum or emotional restraint, whoever this girl in his face was, she was clearly only one nervous breakdown away from landing herself in St. Mungo's.

"You're unhinged," Draco said. He picked up his spoon to stop his hand from trembling but when it knocked precariously against the rim of his teacup he slammed it back on the table, pushing his hand on top of it as though it were trying to wiggle away.

"You're a bloody pervert," the girl shot back. "You did this to me on purpose, you-you-you _disgusting_ git."

"What are you playing at?" Draco asked, slowly. He'd caught a flash of terrifying green through all that hair. He knew only one person with eyes that exact color of death.

"Auuughh!" she screamed in his face. Draco stared, his mouth falling open as he realized exactly what he had done. He _had_ purposefully mangled Potter's potion yesterday when they'd been paired together, but that juice from the wrong half a bazoar should have made Potter puff up and go all red until he resembled a giant cherry, not invert his prick and stick two apples on his chest. Had he confused the halves?

He had been distracted lately, concerned about not only his personal standing within the school now that Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, but also about the standing of his house. The first term they were allowed to come back after the war had been awful, with the rest of the students ignoring the Slytherins as a collective whole to the point where Draco had been walked into, sat upon, and even once punched in the back of the neck as a Hufflepuff—a _Hufflepuff_—attempted to reach through the back of his head for a Butterbeer. He didn't apologize when Draco turned to glare, hand rubbing the nape of his neck. The Hufflepuff had only raised his eyebrows and then shoved past Draco, smiling and laughing with genuine feeling. By the time the Christmas holiday had crawled near, the Slytherins had gotten the point: they were as good as dead. And look how no one missed them, how they moved on as though Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson and all the others had never existed. They didn't even seem to care about those who had actually died. Apparently unabashed cruelty was only wrong in context.

The first day back from their hols, Potter had approached Draco on the train, his nose deep within the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet. The other students were moving out of his way with something like awe, which Potter was clearly avoiding, but Draco had had enough. Over Christmas his mother had broke down and had confessed everything to Draco, holding him uncomfortably close and stroking his hair as she told him about how she had saved Harry Potter's life. She had attempted to twist it into a parable on survival and how withdrawal doesn't always mean defeat, but Draco could tell from the way she was choking her words out that she simply needed to talk. His father had barely spoken a word since the war, paranoid he was going to be sent back to Azkaban, which he probably was, once the Ministry could so much as look straight. For the moment they were all under house arrest. He was allowed to go to Hogwarts for his final year thanks to his mother's impenetrable insistence, but could only go to Hogsmeade under supervision and even then only one weekend per term. His intangible shackles didn't bother him much, though. If anything they gave him an excuse to hide in his room or the library, biding his time in solitude until he could take his NEWTS and then run home to his parents to help them face what he expected to be a very difficult future.

And so when Potter made no sign of acknowledging Draco walking directly toward him in the narrow hallway of the train car, Draco decided his current situation was rather rummy and he was tired of it and that outward hate was better after all than the never ending barrage of indifference. Steeling his shoulders, Draco walked directly into Potter, pushing him into the window of a compartment with a grunt.

Potter had hit himself in the face with his paper, which made Draco bite his lip, and then his head whipped out above the now crumpled sheets. Draco noticed that his scar seemed perceptively lighter.

"Watch your step, Potter," Draco had said. As an afterthought, he had snatched the newspaper from Potter's shocked hands.

"You're an epic prick, Malfoy," Potter had called after him. Draco had turned to look back at that, Potter's silhouette back lit against the light streaming in from the compartment he had been awkwardly picking himself up off of, the faces of five or six second years smooshed up against the glass, their eyes ping-ponging back and forth between Draco and Potter, their excited whispers fogging up the glass.

"It is rather large, cheers," Draco had said. Potter had splurted out a horrified sound, had jinxed Draco with something so weak it was almost sporting, and Draco had hit back equally. Well, he was a bit harder. He may have been utterly defeated but he was still a Malfoy and cheap shots were sort of what Malfoys did.

And just like that, as though Potter had given everyone permission, things went back to normal.

+++

"This is not normal," Ron said, examining Harry as he pulled on the kneesocks Parvati, who was closest to his height, had loaned him. Lavender had performed a tweezing spell on his eyebrows and a hair removal charm on his legs and underarms and then had plaited his hair. Ron watched Harry's svelte fingers pull the socks up to the bottoms of his smooth thighs, remembering at the last minute that those thighs were rough and covered in hair and only a foot away from a dick not twenty-four hours ago. Ron grimaced. Ron was feeling conflicted.

Harry shot a look at Ron, blowing his fringe out of his eyes.

"Oh, is it not?" he asked, voice dripping. "I wasn't aware that boys don't normally explode into girls overnight. How did you take it, Ron? I bet you looked a dead ringer for Ginny." He stood and looked around for a moment, trying to locate something. "Where's my tie?"

"On your pillow," Ron said, pointing feebly.

Harry made a thankful sort of noise and then walked over to the full-length mirror in what could be best called the corner of their oval-shaped room.

"I look ridiculous," Harry said. He patted at the pleats in his skirt as though he wasn't sure they wouldn't bite him.

"Erm," Ron said. Truthfully, he couldn't stop picturing Harry as he had always known him, taller and wider and less with-tits. Seeing that Harry transposed with this skirt and kneesocks reality _was_ a bit funny.

Harry glared at Ron through the mirror, slinging his tie around his neck with a pout. The new, feminine curve in his lips suited his moods too well.

"You look," Ron began. "Well, mate. You look as normal as you can."

Harry didn't respond, only finished doing up his tie in uncomfortable silence as Ron noticed the particularly masculine dexterity and speed with which his fingers formed and then tightened the knot. Ron immediately wondered whether the girls ever had trouble doing their own ties. He'd never thought about it before.

"Let's go, then," Harry said. He pulled a cardigan on over the white button-up he'd somewhat sloppily tucked into the waistband of his skirt. "I suppose this would be my fate, wouldn't it?"

Ron handed Harry his Potions text, which he took and then held tightly over his chest.

"All right?" Ron asked. He felt strangely nervous. Harry looked very pale.

"Guess so."

"It won't be so terrible," Ron ventured. "And besides, if anyone mouths off to you I'll hex them into the ground."

Harry looked even paler.

+++

By the time the snow had begun to melt, everyone had come around to the idea of Harry Potter looking and sounding like a girl. He didn't act like a girl much, or at least not like the general populous' idea of what a good Hogwarts girl should act like. He walked too quickly and ate too much and got too dirty playing Quidditch to really blend in.

It was how he acted with other girls, though, that really stopped people from forgetting what he was inside. Before the war, Harry had been occupied with strategy and secrets. After the war, Harry certainly had enough trauma to keep him occupied, but all the sexual tension he'd been subconsciously ignoring had burst through with a vengeance. Suddenly having hips and curves and large green eyes that turned up in cahoots with the naturally coy lilt of his deep pink lips wasn't exactly helping.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" Harry asked Ron one evening.

They were sitting in the common room. It was a cold night and they'd pulled their chairs up closer to the fire, legs stretched to warm their toes. Ron looked at Harry, mouth open but nothing coming out. He glanced around for Hermione, but she was across the room watching Neville help a third year with their Herbology assignment, barely attempting to hide her eavesdropping behind a large book. Ron smiled in spite of himself and then shook his head, aware that Harry was staring at him.

"Oh," Ron said.

"Only, Zacharias Smith told me I was pretty this morning after Quidditch practice, because they use the pitch after us, right? Said something about long legs or…" Harry trailed off. He lifted one leg, clad in the too big pajamas he refused to stop wearing—"They're very comfortable, Lavs. I don't mind how they look."—and examined it, looking from his waist to the tip of his toe, which he could now see as he'd rolled up the legs of his trousers so as not to be constantly tripping over himself.

"What do you think, Ron?" Harry asked.

"Honestly mate, I'm not really bothered," Ron said. "You're not ugly, you know, but you're not my type."

"Hmm," Harry said. He began to chew on the tip of his quill.

"Can we not talk about this anymore?" Ron asked. "It's weird. And also," he took a breath. "Why do you care what Smith says to you?"

"Oh, I don't," Harry responded through the quill. Realizing it was still in his mouth he took it out, brandishing it in the air as though he was about to say something very important. At the last minute, though, he abandoned the project and went back to his essay, which was swiftly interrupted by Parvati sitting down on the arm of his chair. The pleats in her skirt swished over the edge to brush against Harry's arm.

"Hiya, Harry," she said with a giggle. Harry had refused to let anyone call him anything but Harry for so long as this surprisingly effective potion kept his penis at ransom and the girls, even though it had been more than a month, were still a bit tickled.

"Hiya," Harry said back. He looked up at Parvati over the rim of his glasses.

"Lavender's got a new one of those books from her auntie. You wanna come up and see?"

"Absolutely," Harry said.

"Wassis?" Ron asked as Harry threw his work onto the ground unceremoniously.

"Sorry, Ron," Harry said. He had one foot on the girl's staircase, which turned out to not reject Harry's advances, much to the annoyance of many of the older boys. Flipping long tendrils of perpetually wind-tangled hair over his shoulder he shrugged, gave an almost imperceptible wink and said, "It's a girl thing." before bounding up into the great unknown.

+++

Hermione opened the door to the seventh year girls' dorm to find Lavender, Parvati, and Harry stretched out and squeezed together like sardines in girls' clothing on Lavender's bed. The three of them were collapsed in hysterics, blushes high in their cheeks and shoulders shaking from some unknown hilarity.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked, shucking her cardigan and tie. Harry was able to form words first.

"This book," he said through fits, "is amazing."

"Well I highly doubt that," Hermione said, walking over to where Harry was holding it in the air. Anything that Lavender and Parvati and, let's be honest, Harry wasn't exactly book smart so to speak, could find 'amazing' was likely not to be found diagrammed in the circle overlapping Hermione's personal definition of the word.

Grabbing it out of Harry's hand with a flick of her wrist, Hermione read the title through a confused bunching of eyebrows. She flipped to the back, flipped it frontwards again, and then sat down with a soft phloomfing of breath on the edge of the bed next to the one where the others were watching her with smirking interest.

"How've you gotten this?" she asked, looking up from where she was previously staring at the front cover illustration.

"My auntie," Lavender said proudly. "She sends them to me, you know, for laughs."

Hermione was silent for another moment and then, cautiously, as though this particular book was from the darkest reaches of the Restricted Section, she opened the book along the middle of its spine and began to read. After what would have been only three or four sentences to Harry but was likely most of the page for Hermione, her eyes went all buggy and she slapped the book shut.

"This is disgusting," she said in that haughty indignated tone that had so quickly become a trademark. "And it is going to rot your brain. As a prefect, I am confiscating this."

"Hermione!" Lavender and Parvati wailed in unison.

"That's not fair!"

"Stop being such a stupid cow!"

"Oi," Harry said, sitting up as well. "Hermione's not a stupid cow."

With an awkward gangle of legs, Harry stood up off of the bed, pulling his pajama trousers down from where they had ridden up his waist as he'd been lying on it. Hermione was standing over by the door, her arms crossed in front of her with the book tightly enclosed against her chest. Shrugging at the other girls' offense, Harry and Hermione left the room together.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said once they were in the stairwell.

Harry just blushed and looked down at his toes, which Lavender had painted the day before last. They were once tiny beads of coral, but Quidditch practice that morning had scuffed most of the paint away. Now they looked more like someone had been scratching at his feet, so much smoother and slenderer than anyone had ever remembered seeing them before.

"Erm," Hermione said, fidgeting. "I'm only going to put this in the Room of Requirement, so if you want it back, you'll know where it is."

Harry smiled at her and then, as a surge of hormones the likes of which were still taking him a while to parse coursed through his body, Harry was slightly overcome by his feeling of connectedness to Hermione. Ever since he'd been turned into a girl, their friendship had unspokenly blossomed. They were no longer just friends, they were becoming sisters. Harry had never realized how much was missing, how intense a girl could feel for another girl without it ever going romantic.

Putting his arm around her shoulders, Harry pulled Hermione in close to him and planted a kiss on her temple. He was taller than her, even as a girl, and he could feel his breasts push up against the taut boniness of her shoulder and hers push in beneath his. Because it was breasts he was thinking about and because his brain was in some strange intersexual limbo where he still felt male but was beginning to experience and rationalize the world around him as a female, situations like this often confused him. As the male side was aroused at the idea of so many breasts, the feminine side blushed, oddly guilty.

+++

The first game day that Harry had worn his newly transfigured Quidditch uniform to classes, by the end of second period he had the distinct feeling that people were staring. And not in the usual way. He realized he had a lot of reasons for people to stare, but something about this felt different, almost feral.

Him and Ron had no classes together until after lunch, so Harry was walking down the main corridor by himself when he stopped Draco Malfoy, who was walking in the opposite direction, with a sharp grip on his forearm.

"Malfoy," Harry said, a bit wildly. "What did you do to me? Why is everyone staring at me?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and shook his arm free from Harry's grasp.

"I wouldn't even know how to begin answering that," Draco quipped, brushing at his sleeve where Harry had touched him.

Harry turned around and attempted to look at his own back, arching himself upwards. Draco glanced up and down Harry's body.

"Well? I felt you hit me with something during charms," Harry demanded. He had that sort of tone in his voice that suggested imminent loss of muscle control. "What did you put on my back?"

"Your arse," Draco said, blatantly staring. "You should be thanking me."

"What?" Harry asked, his voice going even higher. Draco thought he could see a twitch forming, right there behind the left eye, where it normally did when Harry got like this. "What the fuck do I have to thank _you_ for?"

"Well," Draco began, stepping closer. "You're still a revolting, useless twat, of course, but at least like this you've a nice piece to look at. I imagine if one could shut you up, maybe tie you up," Draco smirked, continuing the close the gap between the two of them. "Then you might even be worth the excessive cleaning charms one would have to perform on themselves afterward."

"Is that why you did this to me?" Harry asked. He felt himself fueled forward by his anger and the darkening heat in Malfoy's gunmetal eyes. "Because you want to fuck me?"

Draco stepped back at that, both of his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had clearly only intended to fluster Harry into going away, not evoking a response.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me since it happened, Malfoy?" Harry asked. His lips curled up at the corners and he lidded his eyes. "Because you've been afraid you…" Harry stepped very close to Draco. The tip of his chest, held back in his Quidditch kit, was nearly touching Draco's own uniform. "might…" Harry pressed himself against Draco, who was just as surprised that he wasn't moving away as Harry was. Harry lowered his voice to a throaty whisper, "… lose control?"

Harry had his lips pressed up against the warm heat exuding from Draco's neck, right below his ear. Neither of them were touching each other with their hands, but from their necks down they were completely pressed. After a moment of listening to Draco's ragged breathing in his ear, Harry took a quick step back and, before Draco could register the loss of heat and pressure, he threw a wild haymaker directly into Draco's jaw.

Caught off guard, Draco stumbled backward into the wall, clutching at his face and blinking back the wetness in his eyes.

"What's the matter?" Harry teased, expecting some sort of retaliation. "Afraid to hit a girl? I didn't place you as the chivalrous type, Malfoy."

"Fuck off," Draco growled. He was shifting his jaw back and forth in its socket and tonguing his teeth.

"Gladly," Harry said. He walked a few steps before turning around and, moving backwards called out with a barking laugh, "I'll be thinking of you the entire time!"

Later that afternoon, Slytherin beat Gryffindor 170-50.

+++

Of course, as soon as Harry let it slip that he knew where the book was hidden, Lavender showed a surprising amount of upper body strength by almost knocking him onto his back with a shove in the direction of the portrait hole. And so that was why Harry was walking through the castle, alone, at midnight, on a Tuesday. He was still in his school uniform, having spent most of the evening after classes in his final day of detention with Snape for hitting Malfoy after Slytherin won. Snape had made him re-label, re-jar, and re-organize every single item in his storage cupboard over the past week and after climbing up and down the ladder so many times, the elastic at the top of Harry's kneesocks was beginning to loosen and scrunch down.

On his way to the Room of Requirement, Harry was planning on stopping by the large memorial tapestry that had been hung over the entrance built to the portion of the school that had been most irreparably destroyed in the war, but as he turned the corner, his mind deep in concentration, he was startled breathless to see another body in front of him.

"Oh, hello Harry," Luna said, looking over at Harry as he turned the corner.

"Luna," Harry gasped. "You frightened me."

"Yes, I do that occasionally," she said.

Harry stood there for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to just go to the Room of Requirement and come back to the tapestry later. If he spent too much time here, which he was apt to do, he often found himself unable to control the wracking sobs which would lurch up from the deepest pits of his body. He had a feeling Luna wouldn't be keen on seeing that.

"Did you know your skirt is on backward?" Luna asked with a small smile.

Harry looked down at himself and chuckled over a slight blush. He untucked his button down and then, sucking in a breath to make his waist narrower, he twisted the skirt around his hips until the zipper was in the back.

"I keep it like that for easier access," Harry said.

"Really? That's very economical of you."

"Erm, no," Harry smiled and worried his eyebrows, which Lavender had been maintaining despite his repeated declarations of not caring. "That was a joke."

"Oh," Luna said.

They stood in silence for a moment, both of their profiles cutting angles in the moonlight. Harry found himself unable to stop looking over at Luna, noticing the way her hair looked almost white in the deep blue of the night. Harry's eyes drifted down her pale expanse of neck to her chest. Her tie was gone and her top two buttons were undone. Harry could see the soft, slow, rise and fall of the very ridges of her breasts. He felt overcome with an urge to touch them and looked away quickly as he felt a twinge between his legs.

"Luna?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry?" she looked over at him and Harry noticed how they were almost the same height.

"I'm going to the Room of Requirement. Would you, hm, want to walk with me?"

"Are you afraid of the dark?" Luna asked.

"What?" Harry laughed. "No, not at all. I'd just thought it'd be nice to have company. No problem, though. I'll be off by myself. It was nice talking to you, Luna."

Harry turned to walk away, but then so did Luna, so she hadn't been turning him down after all. Harry smiled to himself. He should have guessed as much.

"Do you like being a girl?" Luna asked after they had walked in silence for several minutes.

"Ohh, erm, well," Harry stammered. "I… guess I like bits of it. I miss my—being a bloke."

"You miss your penis," Luna said. Harry was thankful it was so dark.

"Wouldn't you?" he asked. "I mean-you-if you had one, and then suddenly it was—like what if your… you know, disappeared and you woke up with… all that, instead? It might be fun and new at first, but you'd miss it eventually."

"I suppose I would," Luna said after thinking on it. "You have things very hard, Harry."

"What?" Harry asked. He was still reminiscing about his rogue prick. The weight of it in his hand, the tight clenching fist of an erection, the almost unbearable pressure and then screaming relief of ejaculation. He had of course wanked since turning girl, but he found it wasn't the same. It was intense in a completely different way that Harry wasn't sure he could ever prefer. Having had over a decade of the penile masturbatory experience, he felt there was really no substitute.

"Your life," Luna began, but Harry cut her off.

"I know," he said. He could practically feel the gathering wetness between his legs drying up at the prospect of another sympathetic talk by someone who had little to no idea of exactly what they were trying to sympathize with. Although if he had been in the mood to listen to it, Luna was probably one of the few he would have taken it from.

"Sorry," he finished. Luna smiled.

"So you enjoy being a girl, then?" she asked, changing the subject. Harry could have hugged her. Harry suddenly really wanted to hug her, to feel the heavy press of her body against his own.

"To be honest, I barely think of myself as a girl," Harry said. He paused afterward. He had never admitted that aloud before, not even to Ron or Hermione, who had taken an essential vow of silence with regards to the whole situation. "I'm still me, you know? It's just the outside what's changed."

"I think you've changed, Harry," Luna said. "You may not see it, but you're not just wearing those knickers."

Harry was silent.

"I'm not entirely sure what that means," he said. "But, you're likely right."

"When you're in bed, do you think of girls still, or is it turning to boys?" Luna asked. Harry's mouth fell open. As much as he wanted to explore this path further, he couldn't believe he was discussing it with Luna of all people.

"Erm," Harry stalled. "Girls, mostly."

"And that's like before?"

"Yes!" Harry said, slightly indignant. "I'm not gay."

"No, of course not," Luna smiled. "That's not what I was inferring. Oh, look. We're here."

Harry was having difficulty thinking of exactly the thing it was he was supposed to be requiring. He knew he was sent down here to get that book, but his conversation with Luna and the way her spine curved gently in a smooth line Harry felt would feel great beneath him were clouding his thoughts. After a minute of silence, the door appeared and, holding his breath that he had kept focused, he walked in.

The room looked like Hermione's dreamiest fantasy. The walls were lined from tip to top with an endless row after row of books. The floor was almost invisible between a ruckus of cushions and poufs and pillows and blankets. Here and there, a table sat with a pitcher of water and a flickering candle.

"What did you need in here, exactly?" Luna asked. Harry wanted to smack himself in the face.

"A book," he said weakly.

Luna surveyed the room.

"And I imagine a comfy place to read," she said, motioning at the floor. Her tone joking, her smile good-natured. "Although this lighting isn't the best. People with glasses shouldn't read by candle light. That's how you build up wrackspurts."

And Harry could have made one thousand quips here, could have been dismissive in one hundred different ways. But what he did instead was step forward, wrap his fingers around Luna's wrist, and without much thought press his lips into hers. They kissed, lips closed, for a few seconds before Harry pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he blurt out before she could say anything.

"I don't mind," Luna said. "I like kissing you. Your lips are soft."

"So are yours," Harry mumbled. "Can I, er, again?"

Luna nodded and Harry, figuring she would appreciate the honest bluntness, pulled her into him and kissed her deeply. As they kissed, Harry's long hair fell over his shoulders and her long curls fell over his, their hair tangling together as they continued holding each other, tongue on tongue.

As they stood there kissing, Harry felt himself pulling apart. On the one hand, as he naturally took control of the rhythm of the kiss and the small pushings forth of their bodies, he realized he hadn't felt more masculine in weeks. On the other hand, he was unbelievably aware of his nipples hardening against Luna's, soft breasts against soft breasts. As he wondered if Luna was feeling the heavy wetness that was growing between his legs, Harry realized that he'd never felt this in touch with the full scope of his feminine body. All the things he loved about girls, the things that drove him and the other boys in his dorm wild to even hint at aloud to one another, he was doubly in capacity of them. Once with Luna, who was so warm and soft, and again with himself. Herself. Himself?

Harry hadn't realized Luna had been pushing them down into one of the soft piles of bedding until he felt his hair spread out beneath him over a particularly soft, maroon pillow. Luna had straddled him, her skirt flowing over Harry's hips like a flower turned on its head.

"Have you ever seen a girl naked?" Luna asked.

"You mean other than myself?" Harry asked with a smirk. Luna giggled and Harry couldn't help but look down her shirt as she did. As a volt of electricity shot down his spine, Harry really hoped this was going where he thought it might be.

"Yes," he said.

"Was it Ginny Weasley?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Luna said. She had a funny look on her face. "I didn't know you were having sex."

"Oh!" Harry responded quickly. "We weren't. But I saw her, once. We were, you know, basically this," he waved his hands in the air around them. "And she let me take her clothes off and then, er, I dunno."

"She was scared."

"I reckon so."

"I'm not scared of you, Harry Potter," Luna said. As she did so her fingers began to unbutton her shirt. After she shucked her shirt, she undid the clasp on her bra and tossed it on top of the shirt. She looked down at Harry, then, her tits even paler and more round than Harry thought them capable of being.

"Now yours," Luna smiled. It was all Harry could do not to flip her over and kiss and writhe her straight through the floor.

His hands shaking slightly with anticipation, Harry unbuttoned his own shirt and his own bra, yet another loaner from Parvati. Feeling the warm air against his chest, Harry was suddenly struck with the image of the two of them as though he were an outsider: two girls in kneesocks and pleated skirts, both topless, both flushed, caught in the liminal space between turning back and someone getting fucked somehow. He could practically feel his phantom erection straining against the curve in Luna's ass, a curve he wanted so badly to see and touch and maybe even smack.

"What do you think?" Harry asked. He looked down at his tits and then back up at Luna's. His were significantly closer to his body, a consequence of his svelte, athletic build.

"I like them," Luna said. When she reached out and touched them Harry thought his brain was going to melt.

"Wow," he breathed. "That feels good. Really, really good."

"I know," Luna smirked. "Do you feel like a girl yet?" she asked, letting one finger trail down over Harry's stomach.

"Do you want me to?" Harry asked. Or at least that's what he thought he asked. His mind was having difficulty connecting the voice with the words and the motions required to make them.

"I want to show you what it's like to be a girl," Luna said. "No prick required."

As she said the word _prick_ she dug her hips down on top of Harry's in a shoveling motion. Harry's face went moon-shaped and he had to stop the extended _fuck_ that wanted to spill out of his mouth by groaning over it. Because he had only ever wanked in the silence of his room, he hadn't heard himself moan since the transformation. The gravelly sound of his voice, higher than he was used to but containing all the lust from before, turned him on more than he would have admitted.

Luna bent over and began kissing Harry again, and Harry didn't know where to begin touching. Deciding he would get to everything eventually, Harry settled for kneading one hand in the soft, outward facing curve of her hips and placing the other on her thigh, right below the hemline of her skirt. He could feel the tiny, soft hairs there from where Luna had missed a spot with the hair removal charm. It was possible he was drugged by the cyclical press of tits, but it all felt very natural to Harry and he suddenly became very aware that everything she was outside, he was too.

Harry placed his hands between himself and Luna, his palms fanning out over Luna's tits. With a wiggle of his hips, Harry pushed himself down slightly between Luna's warm, clenching thighs so that she was now straddling the space between Harry's bellybutton and his skirt. Harry tried not to notice how soaking wet Luna was, because he was pretty sure he was just the same.

Moved down, Harry was a tit level with Luna and, slowly, he wrapped his darkening mouth around one of her nipples, hand teasing the other. Luna moaned at that, her palms flat against the floor on either side of Harry. Harry tongued her nipple, flicking and teasing it with eyes closed in pleasure.

After a minute or two, the world rolled onto its back. Luna was now on bottom, Harry on top, spread out lengthwise between Luna's open thighs, face on tits and ass up in the air. He had a flash of him being fucked in that moment, how open and vulnerable he felt in his skirt with his pussy on display. The image made him moan onto Luna's tits and twist his hips in desire.

Needing something more and, being the sort of bloke who had always just figured things out as he went along, Harry figured he could be that kind of minge, too, and started to move down Luna's body. The further down he traveled, Luna seemed to get impossibly softer, her skin tasting sweeter, less like soap and more like salt and sweat with a vague twinge of something floral and something edible, a twice-dipped honeysuckle.

When he got to the waistline of Luna's skirt Harry stopped and, sitting up, he first unzipped his own, letting it fall to his knees and then somewhat awkwardly slipping it out under his feet, kicking it away.

"I like your knickers," Luna said, looking down over her body at Harry.

Harry's knickers were so pink they were almost white. They had been a gag gift from Seamus, who had, in an effort to cheer him up after this all first happened, promised Harry he would buy him something nice if Harry was still a girl by March. He was, and so one night as they all sat at the Three Broomsticks, discussing whether or not Professor Sprout and Madame Hooch had ever trysted and how nice it was to come to Hogsmeade without Draco here to muck it up for everyone, Seamus had come in late. He bought a round and then, after setting the drinks on the table, threw a small box on the table in front of Harry. It was wrapped in red velvet with a golden, silk bow.

"I never break a promise," Seamus had said with a wink. Harry, who was a little drunk, had giggled and winked back.

"An admirer," he had swooned, carefully opening the wrappings. He had lifted the top of the box, folded back the soft paper inside and then had started laughing so hard he couldn't even lift the things out of their box.

"What is it? What?" Ron had asked from the opposite side of the table.

Dean, who had been sitting to Harry's right, pulled the knickers out of the box and held them up high. They were almost incandescent, a semi-sheer pink whiteness that reminded Harry of a nasty joke involving a shepherdess and three men dressed as wolves. Everyone began laughing so hard that other tables were starting to look.

"Dean!" Harry had gasped in mock indignation. "Don't be showing the whole pub my ruddy knickers! It's indecent!"

"Bollocks, you know we'd've seen them eventually, you tramp," Seamus had teased. At that, Harry had stood up and climbed a bit unsteadily over the wooden bench they were sitting on. Walking to the other side of the table, he had plopped himself down in Seamus's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck, lacing his fingers against the rough stubble of Seamus's unshaved skin.

"I'm not a tramp," Harry had said. He laughed and kissed Seamus on the cheek.

"Oh nooo," Seamus had mocked. "You're chaste as a bloody virgin, you are. That's why Dean and me saw you in the library with that sixth year Ravenclaw—"

Harry had let out a small, drunkenly indignant sound.

"—or, what about after that match you lost to Slytherin. I seem to recall walking back inside and seeing Zacharias Smith comforting you pretty thoroughly up against the equipment shed."

"Harry!" Hermione had laughed.

"Or what about—"

"Oi!" Harry had said. "We've got it, fine. I fool about. But I can't help it if my body is irresistible," he laughed. "I'm only a new young thing, just trying to figure out her place in the world."

After that, everyone had laughed and mocked Harry's innocence and moved on to other gossip. Harry had spent the rest of the night on Seamus's lap and, lagging behind as they all walked back to the castle, had taken a short interlude to allow himself to be trapped in the alley behind Zonko's as Seamus had moved Harry's knickers to the side and pressed his dick up into the slick wetness there. It hadn't lasted long and they didn't talk about it afterward, except for Seamus grunting in his ear shortly after he came, something about gratitude toward Harry for wearing a skirt. Harry had gone to bed that night drunk and a little upset that Seamus hadn't even considered to bring him off too. Were guys always that self-centered?

Which was why Harry was determined to bring Luna off first, to hopefully appropriate for any times he had came first and then forgot that the girl might want something also.

"Budge up," he said, slapping the inside of Luna's thigh.

Biting her lip, she lifted her hips and allowed Harry to unzip her skirt and then pull it down her waist, over her legs and feet, kicking it over next to where Harry's lay in a crumpled, forgotten mess.

"Gods, Luna," Harry said. Luna wasn't wearing knickers.

"I never wear them on Tuesdays," Luna said. "That's how the sn—" she was cut off by Harry sliding up her body and kissing her deep. His thighs, darker and leaner than hers, were straddled over hers. Luna sighed and pushed Harry away from her so that he was up on his knees, his tits going up and down with the deepness of his breath, a definitive wet spot building through his knickers.

Luna pushed his shoulders, knocking him back into the bedding behind him. He hit the ground, legs open.

"Quick study," Luna smiled. She licked her lips.

Harry felt like his entire body was going to run off in different directions. He wanted to do one thousand things at once but his mind was clouded over and he couldn't even think of _one_ thing to do. What were hands? What was his mouth for again?

"Luna, please," Harry begged before he could even stop himself from sounding so desperate.

"Did you want something?" Luna asked. She wasn't touching Harry at all and it was actually killing him.

Harry attempted to pull her onto him, but she moved out of reach. Smiling, she brushed the nail tip of one finger down the length of his knickers. And that was pretty much it. Harry's mind exploded, what a pity, the poor guy would never be the same again.

Pulling forth from some reserve of carnality Harry wasn't aware he had, he pounced on Luna and, pinning her to the ground, pressed himself on top of her.

"How're you so fucking wet?" he asked. Scrabbling the knickers off his body, Harry gave Luna's ass a smack and then ordered her to spread her legs. Taking a breath to steady himself, he put his face between her legs and flicked his tongue out into her pussy. She was heady and sticky and messy and, as he built up a rhythm he found himself lost in the burning heat. He moved up to her clit, sucking it softly into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, as he pushed one finger and then two up inside of her. The inside of her cunt was the most human, honest thing Harry had ever experienced and, for a brief moment, he wished he had his dick back so that he could secure himself inside of her forever.

But then Luna had her hands in Harry's hair and her back began to arch. Without warning, she let out a stuttery, staccato moaning yell. She clenched around Harry's fingers and her entire body convulsed, trying to close in upon itself.

When she was finished, she pushed Harry's head away and he sat up, panting. The feel of another person, of another girl, coming so thoroughly by his tongue and his fingers had left him forgetting about his own aching need.

Luna sat up on her knees also and, placing both her slightly shivering hands on Harry's face right below his ears, she kissed herself off of his face, from around his lips and down onto his chin.

"I want to fuck you, Harry," Luna said.

Harry stuttered for a moment and then, not knowing how else to say it, blurted out, "Can you?"

"Well, not like you're thinking, I would guess," Luna said. "Women shag each other."

"With like, a, erm," Harry was having a lot of difficulty.

"Not always," Luna smiled. "Lie down."

Feeling suddenly wary, Harry reclined himself onto the bedding. His legs were bent up and closed.

"You have to open these," Luna admonished. With a gentle touch, she pried them open. She looked at Harry's cunt for a moment and then pressed one finger on it, dipping in slightly between the lips and then rubbing the hot wetness over Harry's clit. He gasped, holding his breath.

"Keep your legs open like that," Luna said, bending him slightly more at the knees. Slipping her right leg in underneath the kink in his left and throwing her left leg up Harry's body, she supported herself on one hand, the other holding tight to Harry's knee as she lined her pussy up with his.

She gave a small grunt at the first, experimental grind. Harry immediately turned his head to the side, suddenly embarrassed at being so open and used and by using Luna, the two of them building up a slow writhe, their bodies tools for a release.

The heat was pooling down in him and Harry wasn't sure how much longer he would last. He had no idea what it was he was doing, but the way Luna's cunt felt pressed hot and wanting up against his own, his clit hard and his lips stiffening, he would have let the entire school explode around them if it meant they could do this for as long as he was able to hold on.

Harry tried to breathe, but he was having difficulty as Luna kept tossing her head back and groaning with emotions Harry hadn't thought her capable of, catching Harry's breath in her mouth as she did so.

Harry had a sense that his hips were growing tired, that his back was unbelievably sweaty, that his muscles were starting to clench in unwanted places. Taking a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes and, flashes of his sexual experiences flashing behind his eyes—how badly he'd wanted Cho, Ginny's bright hair tangled in his fingers, the ease with which he'd seduced the Ravenclaw, pressing his body up against Draco's cold, unfeeling form, Zacharias Smith's rough fingers digging into his ass, the firm wideness of Seamus's prick spearing into him, Luna, Luna, Luna—he let himself go with a scream. Wave after wave of orgasm wracked through his body and, eyes clenched tight almost as though he was crying, he grabbed onto whatever of Luna he could and held tight. When he finished, his head fell back against the floor and his back unarched, spent.

Luna moved off of him and Harry let his legs fall numbly to the floor.

"Thank you," he whispered again and again.

"Of course, Harry," Luna said. Her voice sounded far away and Harry opened his eyes. She was standing over by their clothing, trying to figure out which skirt was hers.

"You're leaving?" Harry asked. He immediately blushed. He had rather assumed they would spend the night together. Was he really that much of a romantic?

"I need to sleep," Luna said, deciding on a skirt and zipping it up over her pinked ass. "We have an exam in Herbology."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said. He had forgotten. "I forgot."

"Is that why you were looking for a book?" Luna asked. "For Herbology? I would rather think the library would be better for that."

The book. Right.

"Erm, no," Harry said. "It was for someth-someone else."

Luna smiled at Harry then, buttoning up her shirt.

"Thank you for talking to me, Harry," she said. She muddled through the pillows on the floor and kissed Harry softly on the lips.

"Thank you for," Harry began. He was cut off by Luna dropping his clothes in his lap.

"See you at breakfast, Harry," she said, closing the door behind her.

Thirty minutes later, Harry crawled through the portrait hole into the common room. His hair was sticking to the back of his neck and he reeked of sex. Shucking his stinking clothes, he climbed into the shower and, as the water stung his skin red, tried to remember what their Herbology exam was on.


End file.
